The Choices of Mr Frodo
by cassiopeia3019
Summary: Frodo realises he has feelings for Sam, but will he ever tell him? *slash*
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: These characters belong to the great J.R.R. Tolkien and I am but his humble servant. This is my first serious fic, so any suggestions or critism is welcome. Yes, this is Sam/Frodo slash; so if you don't like that kind of thing, don't read on! Rated R for sexual references/scenes. And a big thanks to my beta Tigerlily Brandybuck!  
  
The Choices of Mr. Frodo  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Frodo Baggins sat at his desk, blissfully unaware that by the end of the day he would realize something that would change his life forever. He frowned at the manuscript in front of him. He was attempting to decipher the last passages of the tale of Eärendil. His cousin, Bilbo, had obtained the manuscript from Rivendell, many years before. The tale told of Eärendil, half elven, who had sailed to the Undying Lands with a Silmaril on his brow, hoping to persuade the Valar to help rid Middle-earth of the evil of Morgoth and his servants.  
  
Frodo heard a sound behind him. Samwise Gamgee, his faithful gardener, was standing at his side. His cheeks were flushed and a smudge of dirt swept his cheek. "Mr. Frodo, I've got some taters for you," said Sam. He held out some dirt- covered potatoes in his grimy hands.  
  
Frodo smiled. "Thank you, Sam. I could make potato soup for dinner tonight. Would you care to join me?"  
  
Sam blushed. "I -- I would like to, sir. But, you see, I've been invited to Mistress Rose's house tonight for dinner."  
  
Frodo laughed lightly, despite a growing feeling of nausea, "That's wonderful, Sam. I hear Mrs. Cotton sets a fine table."  
  
"Will you be all right, sir?" asked Sam.  
  
"Yes, yes, of course. I have this poem I'm attempting to translate and I suspect I shall be quite preoccupied with it." Frodo's tone was light, but Sam could tell there was something amiss.  
  
"Well, at least let me make the soup for you, sir?"  
  
Now Frodo frowned and his voice carried a hint of annoyance, "Sam, I am perfectly capable of doing for myself. You go and have a good time at the Cotton's. I swear, Samwise, you worry far too much over me."  
  
"Yes, sir. I'd better get back to work, Mr. Frodo, them petunia's ain't gonna plant themselves."  
  
"All right, Sam," Frodo said quietly.  
  
"Right." And Sam turned and left the room.  
  
Frodo stared after Sam, tears pricking his eyes. Why was he so upset that Sam was dining with Rosie tonight? Why was he troubled that Sam was spending so much time with Rosie? Frodo got lonely sometimes at Bag End, ever since Bilbo had left. Yes, that was it! Just a foolish need to have someone about.  
  
Frodo knew Sam's birthday was coming up in a few weeks time. Not just any birthday, but Sam's coming of age. Once Sam had come of age he could ask for Rosie's hand in marriage. Frodo expected Sam would ask Rosie to marry him shortly after his birthday party. Sam was always blushing at the mention of Rosie's name, especially when he was teased by Frodo's cousins Merry and Pippin. Frodo wondered why all this made him feel like he had eaten too many mushrooms.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
As the sun peeped out from the rain clouds, Frodo watched Sam out of the window. His muscled body was bent over, planting petunias in the rich soil of Bag End. His brown hands gently took the seedling and shook the dirt from the roots. He carefully dug a hole in the ground and pushed the seedling deep into the soil. Sam patted the ground smooth, then took the watering can and carefully wet the soil around the new plant.  
  
Frodo found himself admiring Sam's rough, caring hands and his strong muscled back. His brown curls hung limply around his face, soaked in sweat from the hot sun. A light breeze ruffled his clothes and gently tousled the new plants. Frodo watched as Sam took another seedling and gently put it into the ground. Sam's hands stroked the seedling softly. Frodo blushed as he found himself wondering what it would be like for those hands to stroke him like that. He was sure that they would feel rough, but oh so gentle. Frodo turned away from the window, disturbed at these thoughts.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Frodo was sitting at the table smoking his pipe when Sam walked in. The sun was setting and bright pink sunlight was flooding through the window. A pot of potato soup bubbled on the fire. Standing there bathed in the sun's last colourful rays, Sam looked...beautiful! He had washed his face and hands, but soil still clung to his shirt and breeches. The sun had begun to turn his hair to gold this early April, and his skin had that healthy glow....  
  
"I'm all done for today, sir," said Sam.  
  
Frodo smiled. "Can you sit for a while? I'll make tea."  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Frodo, but I best be gettin' home. Get myself cleaned up good, you understand. Thank you anyway, Mr. Frodo." Sam sounded a bit awkward.  
  
Frodo sighed. He wanted Sam to stay more than anything. Frodo knew the thought was dreadful, but he didn't want Sam to go to Rosie's: not now and not ever. "Maybe some other time then," said Frodo. "I'm sure Rosie will be much more enjoyable company than a dull old bachelor like me."  
  
"Oh, no, Mr. Frodo, don't say that. You ain't dull and yer certainly not old!"  
  
"That's very kind of you, Sam."  
  
"Well, it's the truth!" said Sam defiantly. He scowled and put his hands on his hips: no one was allowed to be unkind to his Mr. Frodo!  
  
"Go on, Sam, have a good time," said Frodo. He bit his lip, trying not to let a tear fall and forcing a smile. He walked Sam to the door. Frodo looked into Sam's eyes. Frodo couldn't believe he hadn't noticed how marvellously brown they were.  
  
"Please, give my regards to Farmer Cotton, won't you?"  
  
Sam looked at Frodo curiously. "Are you feeling alright, sir? Might you be coming down with a cold or something?"  
  
"No, I'm fine, Sam. Go on then, you don't want to be late." Frodo gave Sam a slight push out the door, ignoring the spark that seemed to travel though his fingers at the touch. Sam looked like he was going to say something, then decided against it and walked out the door.  
  
"G'night, Mr. Frodo," Sam said cheerily.  
  
"Good night, Sam," whispered Frodo. Frodo watched Sam walk down Bagshot Row, feeling more miserable than he had ever felt in his life.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Frodo lay in bed. He couldn't sleep. Images of Sam and Rosie flooded his head. Rosie laughing at a joke Sam had told her. Sam and Rosie walking through the fields, holding hands. Sam giving Rosie a goodnight kiss. The images made Frodo feel sad and angry. Why did he feel this way? Other friends of his had wed, and he did not resent it. Was he jealous of Sam? No, he didn't fancy Rose for himself. Of course she was very pretty and had a musical laugh, but he was certain he did not feel that way about her. The thought of remaining a bachelor did not upset him. Why, Bilbo had been perfectly happy for many years being a bachelor! Besides, Frodo had much work to do, and had a habit of taking off for weeks at a time. He did not have time for a wife and children. Truth be told, he could not imagine marrying any lass. Frodo much preferred the company of Merry and Pippin and Fatty and Sam than that of any lass.  
  
Frodo found himself thinking of Sam's hands patting the petunias into the soil and the smudge of dirt on his flushed face. Sam always managed to get a smudge of dirt on his face and it always seemed to linger there the whole day. Frodo gave a slight gasp. Perhaps -- perhaps he is not jealous of Sam, but of Rosie. But he didn't like Sam that way, did he? Things like that were generally frowned upon. Why, Frodo didn't even know any folk who were that way. Could I be that way, he wondered. He had never before found any male hobbit attractive -- except for Sam.  
  
Except for Sam.  
  
Frodo sat up. He did like Sam that way. Frodo thought of Sam's brown curls, his large brown eyes and his stocky, well muscled frame. He felt a shiver of delight course through him. Frodo realized that he felt that way for Sam all these years. But, out of shame, he had hid those feeling deep inside. He remembered Ted Sandyman telling a group of young hobbits that only evil would come from that type of immoral thought. His feelings had not caused him any trouble until now, when he realized he is going to lose Sam forever. But, what could he do about it? Sam is going to marry Rosie. Frodo was not going to ruin Sam's chance of happiness just for his selfish desires. Yes, thought Frodo, he will support Sam's marriage to Rosie and be happy for him. He must bottle up these selfish thoughts, for nothing will ever come of them.  
  
A thought came to Frodo and he found himself getting out of his bed and walking into the front hall, and over to the trunk. He opened it up; unsure of what he was seeking. Suddenly, he spotted it: a sealed envelope. Frodo took the envelope back to his room.  
  
He sat on the bed and slowly opened the seal. A ring dropped into Frodo's palm. A golden ring, simple, unadorned. Frodo remembered Bilbo had told him he had found the ring in the Misty Mountains, many years ago. Gollum had owned the ring previously: a horribly wretched creature, who hated all light and goodness.  
  
Frodo held the ring up, studying it. Gandalf had been so concerned over it. "Keep it secret," the wizard had said, "Keep it safe." Bilbo had used the Ring often, especially when the Sackville-Bagginses were about. It made you invisible. Bilbo had worn it many times and had seemed none the worse for it. Frodo found himself blushing furiously as he imagined putting on the ring and sneaking in to watch Sam and...what?  
  
'Ash nazg durbatalûk, ash nazg gimbatul,' a cruel voice whispered in the depths of Frodo's mind. Frodo looked around. The room seemed to grow dark and threatening. Shadows crept across the walls. Frodo quickly tucked the ring back into the envelope and slid it under his pillow. That night he had strange dreams of flaming eyes and icy screams.  
  
End of Chapter 1  
  
To be continued... 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
  
Sam sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes shining. He touched Frodo's cheek with his rough hand. Frodo closed his eyes, shivering at the touch.  
  
"Oh, Mr. Frodo, I love you so," whispered Sam, gazing at Frodo with ill- disguised longing.  
  
"I love you too, Sam. I always have," said Frodo softly, taking Sam's chin into his hands. "I was just too silly to realize."  
  
Sam looked at him happily. Frodo drank in Sam's beautiful features. He kissed Sam lightly on the lips: a butterfly's touch. His kissed Sam delicately on the neck, and again, all the way down to his collar. His skin smelt like soap and felt like silk. Frodo heard a noise and realized with pleasure it was a slow moan from the back of Sam's throat.  
  
Sam wriggled his hips to move closer to Frodo. Their knees were touching. Frodo felt amazed. Was this really happening? Was he really in the arms of the loveliest creature he had ever laid eyes upon? For so long he had thought about this moment...  
  
A rush of desire now filled Frodo and he kissed Sam again, a little harder this time. Frodo felt Sam move his hips again, but not because he wanted to change position. He traced Sam's face with his fingertips. He touched Sam's sun-kissed nose, his thick eyebrows, and his pointy ears. Sam had a little dirt on his cheek and he rubbed it off delicately, leisurely...teasingly. Frodo felt fascinated by every part of Sam. He wanted to examine every inch of his skin; his bumps, tiny hairs...everything. Frodo outlined Sam's full lips with his finger. He looked at Sam with surprise as he opened his mouth. Sam flicked his tongue out to touch the tip of Frodo's finger. A bolt of lightening seemed to shoot through his body.  
  
Sam was *licking* his finger.  
  
Sam looked at him from underneath his dark eyelashes and smiled, a smile of utter love and desire. "Lie down, sir," he said so quietly Frodo could barely hear.  
  
Frodo obediently lay on the bed, anticipation sending delightful shudders from his toes to his fingertips. Sam let his eyes linger down Frodo's body for a moment, before he moved to Frodo's feet. Frodo tensed as Sam stroked his feet, a place which was sensitive to hobbits. Sam slowly drew his fingers through the soft hairs, straightening the curls out. Frodo gripped the bed sheets tightly, feeling a moan growl in his throat. Now Sam began to softly lick the soles of his leathery feet.  
  
"Aaahhhhh!" cried Frodo, closing his eyes tightly in delight.  
  
Sam continued to caress his tongue over Frodo's toes and through the delicate hairs. "Sam, uhhhh, Sam, please!" he couldn't help crying out.  
  
Sam looked at him and smiled. He slowly drew his adorable mouth up Frodo, past his ankles then his knees to his thighs. Never did Sam's eyes leave Frodo's. Sam's mouth lingered for a moment on Frodo's groin that had expanded considerably. Sam's eyes danced mischievously. He flicked his tongue out and gently ran his tongue over Frodo's swelling breeches.  
  
Sam was *licking* Frodo's breeches.  
  
Frodo felt his hips thrust involuntarily and gripped the sheets tighter. "Sam! I -- I can't take much more!" Frodo almost screamed.  
  
Sam moved up higher, his mouth inches from Frodo's hot flesh, past his belly and thudding heart until his face was above Frodo's. Frodo stared at Sam, panting hard. Sam's teasing made him aroused than he ever imagined.  
  
Frodo relaxed his grip of the sheets and pulled Sam down on top of him for another kiss. He felt with delight Sam's hardness pressing his thigh and his own tight against Sam's belly. Strong hands began stoking Frodo through the cloth of his breeches.  
  
Sam was *stroking* his breeches.  
  
Frodo moaned as a button was undone. Sam sighed loudly as Frodo's deft fingers touched his special place. Frodo felt so thrilled, he couldn't wait to see all of Sam. His fingers trembled as he pulled on Sam's breeches.  
  
"Oh, Mr. Frodo, I love you so," Sam murmured. Suddenly Sam began to fade. Frodo clutched at him urgently. Nevertheless, he was touching nothing: he had gone.  
  
"Sam, come back!" whimpered Frodo desperately. "Please, my love, Sam, my dear, come back!"  
  
Frodo opened his eyes. "Mr. Frodo, wake up, Mr. Frodo," Sam was saying as he pulled back the curtains. Sam looked at Frodo, concerned. "Are you alright, sir? You were moaning in your sleep. Seems like you were havin' a nightmare?"  
  
Frodo blushed as he remembered his dream. He definitely was not having a nightmare. "Umm, yes, I was having a nightmare." Frodo forced a laugh. "One too many stories from Bilbo I think." Frodo remembered Sam touching him, everywhere. He wished to go back to his dream, than face what he could never have.  
  
Frodo moved uncomfortably, feeling something sticky. His nightshirt, and bedclothes were soiled. Frodo sighed. This hadn't happened since he was a tweenager. He wished Sam would stop staring at him. It gave him the feeling Sam knew what thoughts were crossing his mind.  
  
"You did say to wake you early because today's my party," said Sam. "You said you wanted to help get everything set up all proper."  
  
"Oh, yes, Sam. Happy birthday! Silly me, that, uh, nightmare must have affected me more than I thought. Just let me get dressed and have a bite of breakfast and I'll be right there."  
  
Sam grinned. "That's all right, Mr. Frodo. I'll cook you up a proper breakfast and then we'll think about the party!" Sam bounded to the kitchen in a hurry, thoughts of buttered toast and crispy bacon and hot tea filling his mind.  
  
Frodo groaned and buried his head under the blankets. Sam was thirty-three today! Surely he would be asking Rosie to be wed soon. Of course Rosie was going to be at the party. So far, since realizing the extent of his feelings for Sam, Frodo had managed to avoid seeing Rosie and Sam together. The thought of them together made him feel queasy. However, he had to attend Sam's party today. Frodo took a deep breath. He must be strong. He had to see Rosie and Sam together sometime, better get it over and done with. Frodo got out of bed and, after pulling the soiled sheets off, headed for the bath.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The party was going to be a small affair, held in Bag End as a thank you from Frodo. The Cottons and Gamgees were invited, as were Merry, Pippin and Fatty. Frodo helped Sam cook the mushroom pie and roast mutton and creamy vegetables. Frodo checked to make sure they had plenty of ale. He came back and saw Sam cutting up vegetables. Frodo watched Sam as he chopped some carrots. Sam's tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. His brown curls flopped on his forehead.  
  
"Am I doing something wrong?" asked Sam, looking up worriedly.  
  
"What?" said Frodo, startled. "No, why would you think that?"  
  
"You keep staring at me, while I'm a-chopping these carrots here and I thought I was doing something wrong."  
  
Frodo blushed. Oh, if he knew what he was thinking! "I'm sorry, Sam. I've just got a lot on my mind."  
  
"Would you like to tell me 'bout it, sir?" asked Sam.  
  
"No! I couldn't possibly tell you!" said Frodo hurriedly.  
  
Sam looked hurt. "Well, if that's how you feel."  
  
"What I meant to say is that I can't tell anybody about it, not just you. It's private...personal."  
  
"You know you could tell me, Mr. Frodo. I won't go blabbing it to all the gossipers."  
  
"No, Sam, it's something I'll have to deal with myself. Now, where are those onions?"  
  
Frodo quickly left the room before he choked out a sob.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Frodo found Sam sitting under a tree in the party field. It suddenly seemed quiet; twilight was falling across the world. Sam's head was bent down. He was dressed in his best tunic and breeches. Sam looked up and Frodo smiled.  
  
"Hullo, Sam," said Frodo. "Are you excited about tonight?"  
  
Sam looked up nervously. "I -- A bit, I suppose."  
  
Frodo took a package from his pocket. "I thought I'd give this to you, in private, before everyone else comes."  
  
Sam looked excited. "Thanks, Mr. Frodo. What is it?"  
  
Frodo laughed. "Open it silly, and find out."  
  
Sam undid the wrapping paper. A red small box lay in his hand. It had strange writing on it, which he couldn't read. "I thought I knew my letters, sir, but I can't read these," he said.  
  
"It is in Tengwar, isn't it pretty? It says 'Dear Sam. Have a very happy thirty-third birthday. Lo -- From Frodo.' Open the box!" Frodo had written Love Frodo, but he couldn't bring himself to say it to Sam.  
  
Sam opened the box. A lustrous red gem gleamed inside. "Oh, Mr. Frodo, it's beautiful!" He gently scooped up the gem and looked at it carefully. It was a perfect sphere carefully chiselled by the dwarves hundreds of years before.  
  
"It's from Smaug's hoard in the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo gave it to me and now I give it to you," Frodo said quietly.  
  
Sam gazed at the gem in delight. "It's the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life -- except for..." his voice trailed off.  
  
They sat by the tree in silence. Crickets chirped as the full moon rose ominously. Suddenly Sam remembered that he had a gift to give. "Here, I have a present for you too, Mr. Frodo," he said shyly. He turned around and produced a bouquet of flowers. Daffodils and roses and petunias and tulips were wrapped in gold paper. "I hope you like them."  
  
"Oh, Sam, I love it, they're beautiful!' said Frodo, delighted. He felt his love for Sam blossom.  
  
Sam smiled. "You should probably put them in water, Mr. Frodo, or they'll die."  
  
"That would be a shame," Frodo murmured. He felt his cheeks turn red. Sam had obviously put a lot of thought and effort into his present. He stared into the distance, towards Bywater. Frodo found his thoughts wandering to last night's dream. He remembered Sam kissing him on the lips. Of how much he had wanted Sam. So much desire. So much need. Never to be fulfilled. Frodo stood up quickly. "I'll go put these in water," he called as he dashed off in a hurry, before Sam saw the evidence of his longing.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The room was silent as the hobbits ate. A vase of flowers sat at the centre of the table. Frodo sat next to Sam and Merry, while Fatty and Pippin sat across from him. Next to Sam sat Rosie. Frodo reached for the plate of potatoes. Unfortunately, Sam was reaching for the potatoes as well. Frodo jumped as Sam's brown hand touched his. Sam quickly withdrew his hand and resumed eating, eyes down. Frodo blushed madly. Pippin elbowed Fatty.  
  
"Are they cold?" Pippin asked Frodo innocently.  
  
"What?" said Frodo, sinking in his seat.  
  
Pippin grinned. "Sam's hands. You jumped higher than Mrs. Chubb when she found a frog in her kitchen when you touched his hand." Everybody had stopped eating and was watching Frodo.  
  
Frodo suddenly very hot and flustered. He glanced at Sam, whose hand clutched a fork that was halfway to his mouth. His eyes were wide with surprise. "No, I was just surprised, that's all."  
  
Pippin didn't give up. "And now you're blushing brighter than a tomato."  
  
"Pippin, if you don't be quiet, I'll tell everybody about the incident with the butter," said Frodo softly.  
  
Pippin pouted. Somebody coughed. Frodo took a long drink of ale as everybody resumed eating. When everybody had eaten all that they possibly could, Mrs. Cotton and Rosie retired to the kitchen to fetch the cake.  
  
The Gaffer clapped Sam on the shoulders. "So, my boy," he said. "Soon you'll be wanting to find a wife to look after you."  
  
Sam looked down, embarrassed. "I suppose so," he said faintly.  
  
The Gaffer winked at Farmer Cotton. "I know a lovely lass who'd be willing to look after you," he said.  
  
Farmer Cotton smiled. "Don't rush the boy. I'm sure he will choose the right lass when the time comes."  
  
While this talk was going on, Frodo had a great gulp of ale and stared into the empty glass. He berated himself for not being able to be happy for Sam and Rosie. He put his hand in his pocket and fingered the ring. He had taken to carrying the ring around with him constantly. It brought him comfort somehow. It was...precious...to him. Suddenly, the talk died down. Frodo looked up, and found the rest of the table looking at him. He stared at them blankly.  
  
The Gaffer looked at Frodo. "Are you all right, Mr. Frodo?" he said, "We was talkin' 'bout our Sam and Rosie lass. D'you think he'll choose her, ay?"  
  
Frodo forced a smile, "I think Rose is one of the prettiest lasses in the Shire. She'll make a fine wife," he said truthfully. He laughed, but it sounded hollow in his ears. "I just hope he has enough time to tend to my garden and, perhaps, cook me one of his delicious suppers occasionally."  
  
Sam looked at Frodo. "I would always have time for you, Mr. Frodo," he mumbled, clearly embarrassed by all this talk about his marriage. Was it Frodo's slightly intoxicated state or did Sam seem to be meaning more than his garden, or his table? Frodo shook his head and continued to eat slowly.  
  
Everybody gasped as Mrs. Cotton entered the room with a large tray. On the tray was a large, round cake with lashings of cream and jam. A single candle was in the middle. Mrs. Cotton carefully placed the cake in front of Sam and lit the candle.  
  
"Happy birthday! Happy birthday, Sam!" cried everyone.  
  
Sam smiled and tears welled in his eyes. Frodo watched as the candlelight danced on Sam's face. He was more beautiful than ever. Frodo shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he saw Rosie looking at Sam with a radiant smile. "Make a wish!" Merry cried.  
  
A wish. Sam looked up in surprise. "What would I wish for the most..." he mumbled. His looked at the beaming faces around him. Sam's eyes landed on Rosie...such a pretty lass.  
  
Frodo watched with hurt as Sam gazed at Rosie. A wish...a single wish. What Frodo would give for one wish. For Sam to love him -- like he loved Sam. To not be tormented by his fantasies...to act them out. To love and be loved. Not just the physical act of lovemaking, but the little things. Like lying in bed, wrapped in each other's arms all morning. A kiss on the cheek when you got home late at night. A meaningful glance when nobody was looking. One little wish...  
  
Frodo slumped in his chair as Sam closed his eyes and blew out the candle. He had made a wish. One little wish....  
  
End of Chapter 2  
  
To be continued.... 


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Notes: I would just like to warn that this chapter has a mild non- consensual sex scene (nothing graphic!)  
  
Chapter 3  
  
Sam had been worried about Frodo since just before his birthday. Frodo had seemed distant lately, preoccupied. He hardly ever went out, except to go on long walks. When Sam had suggested that maybe Mr. Pippin or Mr. Merry could accompany him on his walks, Frodo only laughed oddly and said that it was not their company he wanted. Sam thought Pippin and Merry were fine hobbits, a bit childish at times, but good, honest hobbits all the same.  
  
Frodo was not eating as well, Sam had noticed. A hale and hearty hobbit enjoys all his meals, but Frodo only picked at the food Sam cooked and insisted he wasn't hungry. Frodo claimed that he had eaten earlier in the day, but Sam doubted that.  
  
Whispers were beginning to spread around the Shire that young Frodo had finally cracked; that he would be leaving Bag End and following his cousin Bilbo into the wild.  
  
"He's cracking, just like old Bilbo did," said Ted Sandyman loudly one night at the Green Dragon Inn.  
  
"He's not!" said Sam. "Mr. Frodo's just feeling a bit unwell lately and if I was you I would not be starting nasty rumours!"  
  
Ted looked at him. "He's seems to have taken a liking to you, lad. Seems you're the only hobbit he lets into his home. Sounds like he's keeping secrets."  
  
"Well, if he is keeping secrets, it's none of your business," said Sam hotly. The other hobbits sitting around the table mumbled with agreement. Most didn't like Ted anyway, as nasty a hobbit as you could find.  
  
Ted took a large gulp of ale. "It's no problem of mine if he leaves the Shire." He looked at Sam. "Be a bit of a problem for you, though, I should think." Ted pushed back his chair and nodded a terse goodnight. Sam watched him leave, thinking hard.  
  
Sam shook his head at the memory. Frodo wasn't going to leave, was he? Surely he would tell his Sam, his loyal servant and friend. But he was acting funny lately. Maybe he didn't want to hurt Sam. Maybe he would just up and leave like Bilbo had, just disappear into the night. Sam felt tears well in his eyes. Frodo was the best hobbit in the Shire and he didn't care what anybody else thought. If he left what would he do? Sam wasn't worried about his job, although the thought of working for the Sackville-Bagginses was not pleasant. He felt upset at the thought of never seeing Frodo again. At not hearing his laugh. Watching him working at his writings. Seeing his smile, or his beautiful blue eyes. He didn't realize Frodo had pondered at the thought of losing Sam many weeks before.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The sky overhead was cloudy as Frodo walked through the field. Small twigs and pine needles littered the path. A little creek gurgled to Frodo's right. A chill breeze came from the east and Frodo hugged his arms around him. Dark shapes flitted through the bushes. Not a cheery place by hobbit standards.  
  
But that was all right, because Frodo didn't feel cheery. It was now a month since Sam's birthday and still no news of Sam and Rosie's marriage. Poor Sam was terribly shy around Rosie; he probably hadn't screwed himself up to ask her to wed yet.  
  
Frodo sighed a kicked a stone with his foot, ignoring the pain it caused.  
  
Frodo thought about Sam. Frodo loved how his sunny curls stuck to his forehead after working in the garden. How he always got embarrassed over the silliest things. How he sang softly in the garden of elves and jewels and orcs and other things he didn't understand. Frodo smiled: he simply loved everything about Sam.  
  
Yes, Sam had his faults, but Frodo loved them, for they were part of Sam. He put himself down a lot, he was sometimes seemed a bit slow, but not as much as the other hobbits thought. Sam without his faults...wouldn't be Sam.  
  
That was Sam: so sweet, so beautiful, but he would never know. Unless somebody told him. Oh, how Frodo wanted to tell him all the things he felt for him! He imagined stroking Sam's flushed cheek, telling him how much he meant. He would whisper sweet words into Sam's ear. Frodo would never tire of telling Sam how much he was loved. He would tell him at every opportunity. Then he would kiss Sam lightly on the cheek, take his hand and gently lead him to his bedroom.... Those were sweet dreams.  
  
But sweet dreams were not what Frodo was having of late. He dreamt of dark riders on menacing horses, galloping wildly across the Shire, looking for something...or someone. Frodo awoke drenched in sweat. Sometimes the nightmares would make him so ill that he would have to rush to the bathroom and be sick. He would sob and lay his head against the cool tiles as the sweet smell of vomit lingered in the air.  
  
Frodo toyed with the ring in his pocket. It was cool and smooth. Lately, the ring had been on his mind. Sometimes Frodo could hear a voice when he thought about the ring, but he didn't know if it was real or his imagination. He felt like the ring was calling him to put it on. But, Frodo had resisted the urge; he wasn't sure, but he felt only evil would come of it.  
  
Frodo stopped at a blueberry bush and popped a blueberry in his mouth. He savoured the sweet taste that rolled around in his mouth. He put another one in his mouth. Ugh! He spat it out. It was rotten. Frodo smiled at the irony. With pleasure always comes pain.  
  
He wished so hard, so much, that somehow, someday, someway, he would be able to tell Sam how he felt. That somehow, like in the stories, he and Sam would end up living happily ever after. But, those were only stories, not real life. Real life was cruel...hard. Things don't always work out how you want them to.  
  
Frodo put on the ring. Later on he would have no idea why he did it. Frodo's senses were heightened. He realized he could hear the baying of wolves, far past the borders of the Shire. He could smell the fragrant herbs growing near the creek. But a dark mist seemed to descend over Frodo's eyes. Shadows darted across his vision.  
  
A thought came to Frodo. He imagined creeping up to Sam, perhaps while he was watering the garden. Sam would be humming as so often did. Sam would turn around and greet him, and Frodo would smile kindly. He would grab Sam and kiss him on the lips. Sam would jump back with surprise, but Frodo wouldn't care. He would rip Sam's dirty shirt off and touch the lovely brown skin. He would kiss Sam again, pushing his tongue into Sam's wet mouth. Maybe Sam would wonder what his Mr. Frodo was doing to him. Sam's hot skin would drive Frodo mad with lust. He would jam his hands down Sam's breeches and stroke swiftly. Frodo would be panting with excitement. Sam's brown eyes would be open wide with surprise and, maybe, fear. Frodo would push Sam to the ground and lay on top of him, his hardness jabbing Sam painfully. Frodo would rip of the buttons of his own breeches to free himself. Then Frodo would turn Sam over onto his belly and claim what was rightfully his..  
  
The hoot of an owl broke Frodo's reverie. He stood rooted on the spot, gasping. He quickly took the ring off and sat down, tears spilling onto the ground. How could he think of doing that type of things to someone he loves? Only sick people did those kind of things -- evil people with no heart. Is this what happens to someone when they cannot have something they greatly desire? Frodo wanted Sam dearly, but he would never, ever, do that to him.  
  
Frodo sat weeping until the cold breeze froze his limbs. Wispy clouds flitted over the full moon and he realized with a start that it was quite late. Sam would have left Bag End by now, probably worried sick about him. Frodo rose and hastily walked home, chilled, but not from the cold.  
  
End of Chapter 3  
  
To be continued... 


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Notes: I do feel bad making poor Frodo so unhappy, but I wouldn't worry about that too much....(hint, hint) *g* I have no idea what the 'butter incident' is, mentioned in chapter 2; I'll leave that up to your imaginations!  
  
Chapter 4  
  
Frodo lay in bed, unable to sleep. He listened to the sounds of the early morning. A stiff breeze blew outside. Birds chirped uncertainly. Frodo closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep.  
  
The days were becoming colder as winter approached. An icy wind came from the south and chilled the hearts of the hobbits. The old ones were saying it was going to be a harsh winter. The sun rarely poked her head from behind the clouds. Much work was being done to ensure enough food was stored to last the winter. Firewood was collected, fruit preserved and vegetables amassed in large containers.  
  
A chill grew in Frodo's heart. He knew his friends were worried about him. He rarely left the smial, except to go for a walk. He became withdrawn. Sam noticed his face had seemed to age. Small wrinkles were becoming apparent on his forehead. Frodo's hair had become lighter and dull, and he had lost a lot of weight. His clothes hung limply off his thin body. People were whispering about him, despite Sam's refutations. They were saying he had gone mad. That he was going to leave the Shire like Bilbo. They called him Mad Baggins, just as they had with Bilbo years before.  
  
After half an hour of trying, Frodo decided he couldn't fall asleep again, so he got up and made himself a hot cup of tea.  
  
He stoked the fire that had nearly burnt out. Taking his tea to the kitchen, he sat at the table. He wondered what would happen if he just told Sam how he felt.  
  
What if Sam felt the same way? Then everything would be all right. He would kiss Sam and.... But, no, Frodo shook his head. It didn't always turn out happy, like it did in stories, or dreams. Real life was different. In real life consummating your love was the exception, not the rule.  
  
But what if Sam didn't love Frodo. What then? He didn't want to lose Sam's friendship. What if Sam thought this type of love was disgusting...immoral? Frodo couldn't bare it if Sam looked at him with disgust. What if it caused Sam to so mistrust him that he quit his job?. He would lose not just a gardener, but also his best friend. He would probably become an outcast. No, the risks were too high. But, what if Sam did love him? Frodo sighed and gulped down the last of his tea. He took the mug to the sink and washed it out. A noise in the hall caught his attention.  
  
The front door had opened and in walked Sam, shivering.  
  
"Mr. Frodo! You're up!" said Sam.  
  
"Yes, I am," said Frodo. "Come, warm up by the fire."  
  
Frodo fetched a blanket and draped it around Sam's shoulders. "I'll make some tea. I'll just be a moment."  
  
Slowly Sam warmed up by the fireside. "You're up early, sir, if you don't mind me sayin'."  
  
"So are you, Sam."  
  
"I was comin' to make breakfast for you. You haven't been eating much lately and I thought..." Sam trailed off.  
  
Frodo smiled. "I'm feeling much better today. Maybe we can both cook breakfast. I think I've got some bacon in the cupboard."  
  
Sam's eyes lit up. "I'm happy you're feeling better, sir." He paused. "I was wondering, sir, if you don't mind, maybe you could come down to the Green Dragon tonight. You used to like going down there for a pint."  
  
"Maybe I will," said Frodo thoughtfully.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Frodo looked up in surprise a Pippin put another pint of ale in front of him. "It'll do you good," said Pippin smiling.  
  
Frodo thanked him and looked around. The Green Dragon was busy tonight. All the tables were filled with hobbits talking noisily about their families and the coming winter and, of course, food. Frodo's good friends were there; Pippin, Merry, Fatty and Sam; all sitting at the table. Frodo suspected that Sam had arranged his friends to be there, to cheer him up.  
  
Merry stuck a plate of cheese under Frodo's nose. Frodo politely declined. He felt annoyed that everyone was fussing over him. He was older than they were and could take care of himself.  
  
As Frodo sipped at his drink, he idly listened to the talk of his friends. They were discussing whether they should lift some carrots from Farmer Maggot or tease the young Chubb lasses tomorrow.  
  
Suddenly Frodo felt a little dizzy and with a start realized he was drunk. How many glasses had he had? Two? Three? He shook his head, unable to remember. He clutched the table; shaking he head had made him feel dizzier.  
  
"Are you alright, Mr. Frodo?" asked Sam.  
  
Frodo sighed with annoyance. "I swear, I am sick of everyone fussing over me. I wish everybody would just leave me in peace!"  
  
"We are only doing it because we care about you. We wish you would tell us what is bothering you," said Merry.  
  
Frodo looked at Merry sharply, trying to focus on him. "Nothing is bothering me!"  
  
"Frodo, we know there is something wrong. We just want to help," said Merry.  
  
"You can't help me! Nobody can! I'm a lost cause," Frodo snapped.  
  
"Aha! So there is a problem!" Pippin exclaimed.  
  
Merry looked sideways at Pippin. "It's not a lass, it is Frodo?"  
  
"What?" said Frodo surprised.  
  
"You know, unrequited love, that type of thing," Merry said.  
  
Frodo shifted uncomfortably. He snorted. "I am not in love with any lass. I have no idea how you could entertain such a notion. It's silly."  
  
"Frodo, we want to help you. And we are going find out what is wrong, aren't we Merry?" Pippin said. Merry nodded.  
  
Frodo felt anger well up. "It's my business and I will deal with it in my own time."  
  
Merry looked worried. "We don't mean any harm. We just thought it was a lass because you're stuck at Bag End with nobody for company but Sam. We thought you might be lonely."  
  
"Sam is more than enough company," snapped Frodo.  
  
"We think Sam is terrific too, but he's not going to keep you warm at night and look after you till your dying day," said Merry. "You need a wife."  
  
At this point Frodo felt all control had lost him. He felt tears slid down his red cheeks. Sam sat there with a stunned look on his face. Merry rapidly produced a handkerchief and handed to Frodo. Great sobs coursed through Frodo's body as he mopped up the tears. He took a few deep breaths and tried to compose himself.  
  
"Right. I think it's time I took Mr. Frodo home," said Sam, taking control. He decided that the best course of action would be to leave the inn as soon as possible. Sam looked around. Nobody at the other tables was looking at them. He sighed with relief. He would hate there to be more gossip about poor Frodo.  
  
"Come on, sir," said Sam, helping Frodo to his feet. Frodo swayed and Sam put his arm around him. "See, he's drunk. How much did you give him, Pippin?" said Sam sternly. He hoped that his friends thought Frodo was just a bit drunk, even though he suspected that Frodo's tears were not the tears of a drunk.  
  
Sam quickly guided Frodo out of the door in the cold night air. Sam looked at Frodo. His eyes were glazed and his face flushed. Sam put his arm around Frodo's thin shoulders and took him home to Bag End. Frodo said nothing on the way.  
  
Sam led Frodo to the bedroom. "Now you get changed and into bed. I'll go get you some nice hot tea, and fill the hot water bottle." Frodo just nodded.  
  
Sam busied himself in the kitchen heating the water over the fire. He sighed to himself as he poured hot water over the tealeaves. "You are a fool, Samwise Gamgee," he told himself. "Taking Mr. Frodo out when he's not himself. Now look what you've done, you've made Mr. Frodo all sad and upset. Poking your head into other people's business only ends in trouble is what the Gaffer says."  
  
Sam took the hot water bottle and tea to Frodo's room. Frodo had changed into his nightshirt and was tucked into bed. His eyes were closed. His hair was matted and his eyes were puffy. In the soft candlelight his face looked pale.  
  
"Sir?" said Sam softly.  
  
Frodo opened his eyes. "Sam."  
  
"I've got some nice things to warm you up." Sam put the tea on the small table next to Frodo's bed. He handed Frodo the hot water bottle and Frodo hugged it tightly, as it was the only warmth he received from the world.  
  
"Sir?" Sam hesitated. "If there's something wrong, you can tell me. Please."  
  
"Thank you for the tea," said Frodo, ignoring the question.  
  
"Sir, if -- if it is a lass, you can tell me."  
  
"It's not a lass," mumbled Frodo.  
  
"Well, then, what is it?" said Sam gently. A tear slid down Frodo's cheek. "I'm sorry, sir, there I go again sticking my nose in where it doesn't belong. Just ignore your silly Sam, he doesn't know any better."  
  
"Oh, Sam, don't put yourself down like that. You're a wonderful hobbit. I wish so dearly I could tell you, I really do. But, don't you worry about me. Think about -- think about Rosie and how she's the loveliest lass in the whole Shire."  
  
Sam frowned. "Funny you should mention Rosie because..."  
  
"Sam! Please I -- I really would like to go to sleep now." Frodo closed his eyes.  
  
Hearing Sam talk about Rosie was not his idea of a pleasant conversation. He head hurt now and he still felt a little tipsy.  
  
"All right," said Sam quietly. He blew the candles out and silently left the room. He felt sick. Frodo wasn't telling him something important, he felt sure. Something so painful that Frodo couldn't tell to his dearest of friends. What could it possibly be? wondered Sam. He let himself out of Bag End and closed the door with a click.  
  
Frodo lay in bed, listening to Sam leave. He hugged the hot water bottle tightly, imagining it was the lovely warmth of Sam. He wondered hazily what dark nightmares he would have tonight, if he got to sleep at all.  
  
End of Chapter 4  
  
To be continued.... 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5  
  
The kitchen seemed eerie with the soft moonlight cascading through the windows. The rain beat faintly on the roof as Frodo sat by the fire, smoking his pipe.  
  
He got up and looked out the window. Nobody was hurrying about in the rain; it was nearly midnight and every respectable hobbit was tucked in bed by now. "But, I'm no respectable hobbit, am I?" thought Frodo idly. "I have indecent thoughts about my good friend. I dream about doing unspeakable acts with him. I cannot wish him the best, which is what he deserves." A hoarse laugh broke the silence of Bag End.  
  
Frodo finished his pipe and took the ring from his pocket. Even the plainest of things can be the most beautiful. Like something else Frodo could think of. He fondled the ring gently, drawing his fingers over the smooth curves. The gold gleamed in the firelight and Frodo could see his own face reflected on the surface.  
  
His tossed the ring lightly in the air and caught it, the ring landing on his palm with a dull thud. He wondered if he dare put the ring on again. He couldn't explain it, but, the last time he had put on the ring he felt powerful...in control. In truth, it felt good to wear this striking piece of jewellery.  
  
He slowly put the ring of his forefinger and marvelled at how attractive it looked. It fit perfectly. Frodo quickly walked to his bedroom and looked at the mirror with a gasp. He was not there! So, the ring *did* make you invisible. He imagined walking about Hobbiton, seeing, but unseen. He could listen to conversations; he could spy on people...on Sam.  
  
Frodo grinned devilishly as he grabbed his coat and opened the round, green door. The rain was now a fine mist that lightly coated hair and clothes like dew. The air was chill and moonlight danced on the fog.  
  
Frodo walked down the road, head down and hands in his pockets. He wondered what everyone would think if they saw him wandering the streets at this time of night. Mad Baggins indeed!  
  
His feet splashed in puddles. Mud clung to his feet. Frodo shook his head and droplets of water sprang from his curly hair. His heart pounded with fear, but this didn't prevent him from walking towards his goal.  
  
At last he arrived. The smial was smaller than Frodo's at Bag End. He had been there only a few times before. There were only three small bedrooms, a sitting room and small kitchen. Frodo had felt guilty that his own home was much bigger and only he lived there; yet a whole family had to live here.  
  
He pushed open the door quietly. Nobody locked their doors, hobbits lived a very peaceful existence and that was they way they liked it. The door creaked slightly and Frodo, heart pounding, tiptoed into the hallway, closing the door with a soft snap.  
  
Frodo knew the way, and was swiftly at the doorway to the bedroom. He had passed the main bedroom where the happy couple slept soundly and the small bedroom which the three sisters shared.  
  
Frodo peeped through the doorway and smiled. A figure lay in the bed, snoring softly. Two other beds were in the room, but they were empty. One of his brothers had left home to live in the North Farthing and another had left to join his uncle in the rope business.  
  
Frodo crept up to the bed and watched the rise and fall of the blankets. They rose and fell in a regular rhythm, and Frodo knew Sam was sound asleep.  
  
Sam lay on his back, the blankets up to his chin. His forehead was furrowed somewhat, as if he had a worry on his mind. Sam's lips were slightly parted and his eyes darted beneath his eyelids. He was dreaming. Frodo wondered for a moment if he dreamt the same dreams he had. He had had many dreams about Sam. Frodo's favourite was when he wrapped his legs around Sam's broad waist and... Not likely, thought Frodo, covering his mouth to stifle a laugh.  
  
Frodo sat on the edge of the bed, unconcerned if Sam should suddenly awake. Of course, he was invisible; Sam would probably think an evil spirit was haunting him.  
  
The thought amused Frodo.  
  
He ran his finger lightly across Sam's cheeks. They were plump and rosy. He leant over and breathed in Sam's hair. Sam's light brown curls smelt wonderful. He smelt wonderful.  
  
Frodo now moved to Sam's forehead and kissed it lightly. Frodo felt dizzy for a moment and drew away from Sam, to steady himself. Frodo leant over and pressed his lips to Sam's. He poked his tongue out slightly and tasted Sam's lush mouth. Frodo thought he could faintly taste the bitter flavour of ale lingering on Sam's lips.  
  
"Sam," Frodo breathed, caressing Sam's locks. "You are so sweet, so beautiful. I want you so. I love you so."  
  
Sam mumbled something incoherently and moved a little. Frodo took his hand away quickly, breathing a sigh of relief when Sam sighed and stopped stirring. He watched Sam for a moment, and satisfied he had fallen into a deep sleep again, continued his exploration of Sam's body.  
  
He drew his hand down Sam's body, down the rough blanket and hesitated just around Sam's belly. Frodo circled his fingers on his belly, wondering. He glanced at Sam, who was in a deep sleep. Was it Frodo's imagination or was Sam smiling faintly? Frodo sighed and ran his fingers across Sam's hips. He touched a lump with his fingertips and felt himself immediately harden. Frodo's breath came rapidly and he placed his hand over the bulge. Was it Frodo's imagination or did he feel something stir under his hand?  
  
Frodo put his other hand to his own breeches and undid the buttons with his shaking hand to let himself out. Keeping one hand on Sam, Frodo stroked himself, slowly at first and then faster and faster. He imagined Sam was touching him...stroking him...fondling him. His breath now came in short gasps as he became more excited. Frodo groaned loudly as he climaxed.  
  
Frodo sat on the bed, gasping and holding himself, as a warm liquid flowed through his fingers. He noticed that he had now soiled his coat and breeches.  
  
Frodo hadn't realized how loudly he had groaned and felt a rustle behind him.  
  
"What the...?" said a voice.  
  
Frodo panicked and leaped off the bed. Sam was wide-awake now. His head craned around the bedroom, looking in every direction.  
  
"Hello, is someone there?" he called shakily. Sam's eyes were wide in fear.  
  
Frodo stood rooted to the spot, like a rabbit caught in lantern light. A minute passed. Sam, deciding he probably had been dreaming, was now poking at a sticky substance on his sheets.  
  
Gathering his wits, Frodo crept quickly out of the room and out the front door. He stood with his back at the door, heart thudding, and took the ring off. It was a lucky thing nobody saw a figure run down the road to Bag End that night, for he had forgotten to button his breeches back up.  
  
End of chapter 5  
  
To be continued. 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6  
  
The next morning, Frodo watched Sam tending the garden. The soil was damp from last nights rain, and Sam's face and clothes were streaked with mud. Frodo couldn't help noticing that Sam seemed glum; he wasn't humming or smiling cheerfully like he usually did.  
  
Frodo shifted uncomfortably, wondering if his activities last night had something to do with Sam's mood. He wasn't sure what had come over him. It felt so good to touch himself there..to touch Sam there. Frodo felt the tips of his pointy ears turn pink. Many times, late at night in his cozy bed, he had stroked himself, moaning Sam's name, till a delightful warmness spread over him. Then Frodo, in shame and embarrassment, would sob into his pillow until his could weep no more tears. He would then reluctantly get out of bed and change his nightshirt and sheets, wet from his seed and tears. Frodo's sleep would be fitful, even pleasant dreams about Sam were no comfort anymore. They just made Frodo's heartbreak worse.  
  
Sam looked hot and tired, so Frodo decided to bring some water to him and find out what the matter was. He hoped he didn't suspect anything. What if he had somehow found out it was Frodo doing those wicked things in his room last night?  
  
Frodo gazed at Sam as he brought the water to him. Sam was kneeling on the soft grass, pulling prickly weeds from the soggy dirt. His sleeves were rolled up and his shirt clung to his broad back.  
  
"Sam?" said Frodo softly. "I've brought you a drink."  
  
Sam pushed himself off the ground and brushed the caked mud from his breeches. "Thanks, sir," he said, taking the glass and swallowing a mouthful of water. "It's very muddy today, after last nights rain," he observed.  
  
"Mmm." Frodo looked into the distance. Sweat glistened on Sam's face and neck and the top button of his shirt had popped open.  
  
"Is there something wrong, Mr. Frodo?"  
  
Frodo smiled and concentrated on looking at Sam in the eye. Not that that really helped much. Frodo felt he could drown in those brown pools of light. "I was just about to ask you the same question."  
  
"Well, well," said Sam, flustered. "There's nothing wrong, at least I don't think so. I suppose I must tell you what happened. Everybody is very excited."  
  
"Sam, what are you talking about?" said Frodo quickly, dread filling his heart.  
  
Sam looked at Frodo, surprised at the harshness of his voice. "Last night, I - I asked Mistress Rose to be wed and she said yes. We'll be married in a couple of weeks." Sam blushed.  
  
Frodo felt his heart skip a beat. The world spun dizzyingly around him. Frodo quickly grabbed a tree trunk to steady himself. Shadows seemed to cloud his vision and he heard a fell voice in his head. He thrust his hand into his pocket and stroked the ring, taking deep breathes to calm himself.  
  
"Mr. Frodo?" said Sam, alarmed.  
  
"I - I'm sorry Sam," said Frodo, forcing his voice steady. "I was just shocked, that's all. I wish you and Rosie the best in the world." He couldn't believe he had just lied to his love.  
  
Sam smiled crookedly. "Thank you sir. Rosie is certainly a lovely lass. Her Ma all a-bustle, planning the wedding and all."  
  
"It should be a busy time for you," said Frodo, wondering if his legs would be steady enough to walk up the path to the door. He could feel the voice whispering in a foul language, beckoning him.  
  
Sam nodded. "It wont be a big wedding, just our good friends will be invited. Of course you will be, sir," he added shyly.  
  
"Of course." Frodo nodded his head numbly. "I've got some more work to do inside. I'll see you for lunch."  
  
Frodo turned around and somehow managed to reach the front door without bursting into tears. He turned around and saw Sam looking at him, wonderingly. Frodo waved at him shortly, opened the door and sank inside.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Sam watched Frodo walk, rather unsteadily, to the front door. He frowned and waved back to Frodo. Frodo didn't seem overjoyed that he was to marry Rosie. Maybe he was just a little shocked. Sam would be busy with a new wife; perhaps Frodo would be a little lonely. Or maybe he wasn't feeling well. He hadn't been eating much lately. Perhaps he was pining over the lass Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin thought he liked.  
  
Despite Sam's good news, he wasn't feeling well this morning either. He had had a strange dream last night. He couldn't remember much. Frodo was there. He was whispering about someone being sweet and beautiful...but surely he wasn't talking to Sam? Sam shook his head. He was probably talking to a lass he was fond of.  
  
But Frodo was doing other things in his dream. He had touched Sam's cheek and leant over him and breathed in his scent. And Sam found himself enjoying Frodo being so close to him, looking at him intensely. Then, Frodo had lowered his hand down his body and touched him there. Embarrassingly, Sam had found himself stiffen. That had only happened before when he was alone in bed, late at night, when he explored himself.  
  
Sam felt himself turn pink. How dare he think of those things about Mr. Frodo! What a silly dream! Sam knelt down on his knees, tearing the weeds from the soil furiously, forcing himself to think about how pretty Rosie lass was; and how lucky he was to be marrying her.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Frodo stepped into the hallway and fell to his knees. He sobbed into his hands as his world came crashing down around him.  
  
"Oh, Sam, my dear, my love. How could you? Don't you know I love you? Why, my precious, Samwise, why?" he murmured between sobs.  
  
So the inevitable had occurred. In the bottom of Frodo's heart he had denied that Sam would marry Rosie. He had a small hope that, just maybe, Sam would realize that he loved Frodo. That he would not marry Rosie. But, of course, that was not to be. He would only be friends with Frodo. Nothing more.  
  
Sam would come to work at Bag End every morning and leave at night, to walk home to his Rosie. He would kiss her on the cheek lovingly and she would have the table set with Sam's favorite food. He would ruffle his children's light curls and ask them what they had done today. After dinner Sam would smoke his pipe and tell his children stories of dragons and wizards and trolls. Then he would retire for the night and find Mistress Rose in the cozy bed, dozing lightly. How could Frodo deny Sam such a charming, peaceful existence?  
  
All the while Frodo would be sitting at the silent kitchen of his home, alone and cold.  
  
Frodo slowly walked to the kitchen. He opened a drawer and picked up an object. The world seemed to fall silent and calmness descended on Frodo. Yes, this is what I must do, he thought.  
  
He thought he heard the foul voice again in his mind, willing him, encouraging him. Frodo imagined he saw a vision of an evil eye, haunting him, laughing at him. He shut his eyes, willing the fell visions to disappear from his mind. But they would not let up.  
  
The knife glistened in his hand. Frodo studied the knife carefully. Its wooden handle was intricately carved and the blade was as sharp as ice. He wondered what it would feel to press the blade into his soft flesh. He imagined the sound of his hot blood dripping onto the floor.  
  
Frodo took the knife and put it to his wrist. A slight nudge and it would all be over. Nothingness. Painlessness. He just had to press down. Frodo faltered for a moment, and the voices departed, but then Frodo remember his plight, and the voices returned.  
  
The knife echoed ominously as it clattered on the kitchen tiles.  
  
End of chapter 6  
  
To be continued... 


	7. Chapter 7

Authors Note: I would like to thank my new beta Kitty Rose, who has checked the rest of my story. Also thank you to everybody who has reviewed my story, it means a lot to know people enjoy my stories.  
  
Chapter 7  
  
Sam looked up from the weeds as he heard a crash inside. He scrambled up, brushing mud from his breeches, and quickly ran inside.  
  
He found Frodo in a swoon of the floor. A knife lay a few feet from Frodo's hand, but he was not injured. "Mr. Frodo!" he cried. Frodo was unconscious, his face ashen. Sam quickly grabbed Frodo by his thin shoulders and dragged him to his bed. He lifted Frodo onto the bed gently, and pulled some blankets over his slim frame.  
  
Sam stood, looking at Frodo fretfully. "Sir," he said, waving his hand over Frodo's face. There was no response. Tears welled in Sam's eyes. He lightly touched Frodo's forehead, and gasped as ice bit his fingers.  
  
"I'd better get my Ma," he mumbled to himself. Half tripping, half stumbling, he raced from Bag End to Bagshot Row.  
  
Sam found Mrs. Gamgee at the sink, washing dishes. "Ma!" Sam cried, and burst into tears.  
  
"Sam, Sam, my lad, what's wrong," she said, hugging a weeping Sam to her breast.  
  
Sam looked up at her with red eyes. "It's Mr. Frodo. He's sick. I found him collapsed in the hall."  
  
Mrs. Gamgee frowned. "Where is he now?"  
  
"I put him to bed. But his forehead is like ice to touch!"  
  
Mrs. Gamgee dried her hands on the tea towel. "All right. I'll go and see how poor Mr. Frodo is doing."  
  
Sam took his Ma's hand, and half dragging her, ran to Bag End. They found Frodo still unconscious in his bed. Mrs. Gamgee frowned at Frodo's pale countenance. She pressed her hand to his forehead and was surprised how cold it was.  
  
"He doesn't eat enough," she thought. "He needs a proper meal, with lots of vegetables and meat. He's too pale as well. A bit of sun would do him good, I reckon."  
  
Mrs. Gamgee stood up. "Sam," she instructed, "you stay here with Mr. Frodo and I'll go and get some more blankets and a hot water bottle."  
  
Sam nodded solemnly as she bustled out of the room. He took Frodo's hand and rubbed it, trying to instil some warmth into Frodo's cold body.  
  
"Oh, Mr. Frodo," he murmured. "Look what I've done. I go surprising you with my news and now you're sick. I didn't mean it, sir. I don't deserve to be you're servant. Your too beautiful, to special, to be friends with a common hobbit like me."  
  
He looked upon Frodo's face, and despite it being pale and cold, he *did* look beautiful. His curls were a lovely chestnut brown and his chin so perfectly chiselled as if by magic. His full lips were twisted into a sad smile. Long dark lashes hid Frodo's clear blue eyes.  
  
Sam was reaching out to stroke Frodo's cheek, when Mrs. Gamgee came back, carrying a bundle of blankets and a hot water bottle. Sam was helping her with the load when he heard a moan.  
  
"Sam."  
  
Sam raced to the bed and clutched Frodo's hand. "I'm here, sir," he whispered. Frodo's eyelids fluttered.  
  
"Sam, I'm sorry," he murmured, struggling to open his eyes.  
  
"No, sir, you've got nothing to be sorry about," said Sam, as his tears dripped onto Frodo's hand.  
  
"Now, Sam," said Mrs. Gamgee briskly, "give Mr. Frodo some room. Be a good lad and go make some nice hot broth. I'll get Mr. Frodo into his nightshirt and all fixed up."  
  
Sam nodded reluctantly and disappeared into the kitchen. Mrs. Gamgee found Frodo's nightshirt and gently lifted him up from the bed.  
  
"Mrs. Gamgee, you don't need to do that," Frodo protested weakly.  
  
"Now, Mr. Frodo, I've raised three boys, yer ain't got nothing I haven't seen before."  
  
"Just-just don't wash my clothes, I have..something important in one of the pockets."  
  
"All right, lad," said Mrs. Gamgee. "It's none of my business. I'll just put them in the corner." Frodo nodded and let her undress him.  
  
Mrs. Gamgee said nothing, but frowned at Frodo's thin, pale body. He really needs a good wife to look after him, she thought.  
  
After she had settled Frodo back into bed, she kissed him on the forehead and sighed. Mrs. Gamgee carefully folded Frodo's clothes, and left the room to find Sam in the kitchen cooking the broth.  
  
"Do you know what's wrong with him?" said Sam, as he stirred the hot liquid.  
  
"I don't know," she said wearily. "He needs a good meal, I don't doubt. But something seems to be bothering him. Do you know what it is?"  
  
Sam shook his head sadly. "I don't know, Ma. He seems so sad lately. It breaks my heart. I tried talking to him, but he wont say anything."  
  
Mrs. Gamgee smiled dejectedly and kissed Sam on the cheek. "I've got to go and cook the Gaffer's lunch. You stay here and look after Mr. Frodo. Let me know if he gets worse, we might have to fetch the doctor."  
  
Sam sipped some of the broth from the spoon. "Thanks, Ma."  
  
Mrs. Gamgee nodded and left the kitchen. When the broth was ready, Sam put a few cupfuls into a bowl and took them to Frodo.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
Frodo opened his eyes lazily. "Samwise," he barely whispered.  
  
"I've got some hot broth for you, it will warm up your insides."  
  
Frodo sighed and a cruel pain clutched his heart. "I don't think I can eat anything."  
  
"Please, sir, just a few mouthfuls, for your Sam."  
  
Frodo nodded. "All right, Sam, I'll do my best."  
  
Sam grabbed some pillows and help Frodo sit up. Frodo sighed slightly at his touch and Sam was careful after than to make sure he didn't touch Frodo unnecessarily, lest he hurt him again.  
  
Sam sat at the edge of the bed and balanced the bowl awkwardly on his lap. He scooped a little broth onto the spoon and blew on the liquid to cool it a little. Without dripping any, he placed the laden spoon into Frodo's open mouth. Sam watched as Frodo's lips curved over the spoon, enjoying the warmness on his tongue. He swallowed and gave Sam a little smile.  
  
"That's very nice, Sam."  
  
"Would you like some more?"  
  
"I don't think I can eat anymore. I'm sorry."  
  
"You've got to eat, sir," said Sam desperately.  
  
Frodo began to slide down under the sheets, and Sam quickly arranged the pillows so Frodo could sleep.  
  
"Sam, are you really going to marry Rosie?" asked Frodo sleepily.  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
A shadow crossed Frodo's face and he closed his eyes and was soon asleep. Sam sat on the bed, tears numbing his eyes. He took Frodo's hand and kissed it gently, Frodo's cool skin gentle on his lips.  
  
Sam held his master's hand until his back ached and his arms turned numb. Wearily, he grabbed a spare blanket and pillow, and arranged them by Frodo's bed. Soon he was asleep.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Frodo and Sam were by the creek, sitting in the tall grass. The water gurgled noisily and the hot sun reddened their cheeks.  
  
Frodo sighed and picked at the grass. "Sam?"  
  
"Yes, sir?"  
  
Frodo was looking at him intensely, and Sam felt his cheeks heat. He picked up Sam's hand. Sam was surprised his hand was warm, almost hot, as though his very blood was boiling. Frodo's eyes were dark, and Sam found something inside him cry out.  
  
"Sam do you remember the time when you first came to work for me?" Sam nodded. The Gaffer's joints had gotten painful at his old age, so Sam had taken over as gardener.  
  
"I remember seeing a young hobbit, with sparkling eyes and sandy hair, run up the path to the Hill and announce that he was going to be the Gardener of Bag End. And I laughed merrily at your eager face and let you in for some tea." Frodo paused. "Do you remember?"  
  
"I remember," said Sam quietly.  
  
"And do you know, my dear Samwise, that day changed my life forever."  
  
"In what way?"  
  
Frodo squeezed his hand. "I fell in love."  
  
Quietness descended over them and Sam felt his mouth open and close in shock.  
  
"Surely, sir, you don't mean."  
  
"I do," said Frodo simply.  
  
Suddenly Frodo's lips were brushing his, and Sam felt himself pressing himself closely to Frodo's body. Next Frodo's mouth was kissing his hair, and then he was trailing kisses down Sam's neck.  
  
"I love you, Sam," he murmured, lips still pressed against Sam's skin.  
  
"Sir, sir, I love you too," Sam found himself whispering joyfully.  
  
Frodo looked up and smiled. "Oh, Sam," he sighed.  
  
And then they were wrapped in each other's arms, crying and kissing and hugging. Sam moaned as Frodo's mouth met his again. Sam couldn't believe he was enjoying this so much. He felt Frodo's hand playing with his shirt buttons and his fingers graze his hardened nipple when a thought crossed his mind. Rosie.  
  
Sam awoke with a start.  
  
End of chapter 7  
  
To be continued... 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8  
  
Frodo slept mostly for the next day. He had not eaten anything except a few more spoonfuls of broth. His frail body was still cold to touch. Sam was mad with worry. Mrs. Gamgee had visited twice to check on Frodo, but she could do nothing to help. "He doesn't seem to want to get well," she had murmured the last time she had visited. "He just seems to want to drift away. We'll have to fetch the doctor soon."  
  
Two days after Frodo had collapsed, Sam sat by his master's side, the garden unattended since Frodo had fallen ill. He twisted a handkerchief anxiously in his hands, occasionally raising it to his eyes to dab away the tears. Sam watched his master's face for any sign he was getter better. His face had become paler and he looked as if he was in great pain. Sometimes he sighed heavily and muttered garbled words.  
  
Frodo's dreams were dark; an eye seemed to be searching for him, from a land of shadows. It called to him in a black language, and for some reason, Frodo could understand the words. Frodo saw flames, and horrible orcs, and black pits of sickened darkness. Frodo sensed the eye wanted something from him, and would never stop searching for him.  
  
Despite Frodo's pale countenance, Sam thought he looked beautiful, almost elvish like. Lines wrinkled his forehead, and his curls were dull, but he still glowed, with something Sam couldn't put into words. "I love him," muttered Sam, "Sometimes it just shines through. But that doesn't seem to do him justice." But what kind of love? Sam also wondered.  
  
In the next few hours, Frodo seemed to become sicker. Red blotches appeared on his fair skin. His face was strained with pain, and he lips mumbled incoherent words. The words seemed dark to Sam, in some foul language that couldn't fathom.  
  
Sam's shoulders heaved with sobs. He knew Frodo was dying, and couldn't do a thing to help. "Mr. Frodo, please, wake up," he whispered breathlessly. "I-I love you. Please don't leave me. I love you!"  
  
Frodo stirred and Sam clutched Frodo's hand. "Sir, please stay awake for yer ol' Sam!" he said desperately. He seemed as fragile as a newly born babe. Somehow Sam knew if Frodo fell asleep again, he would not awaken.  
  
Frodo smiled faintly and coughed. A mist seemed to cloud his vision, but his thoughts were clear. "I know you love me, Sam, and I love you too. But you don't understand how I love you," Frodo managed to gasp.  
  
"What do you mean, sir?" asked Sam.  
  
"Sam, all this time. I-" Frodo coughed. "I've loved you. I love you with all my heart." Frodo took a deep breath and willed himself to continue. His strength was fading. "Do you know what I mean by that? The way-the way a husband loves his wife. That kind of love." Frodo's eyes fluttered as he gasped for breath.  
  
Sam squeezed Frodo's hand as his true feelings became clear in his head. "Oh dear, me dear. I know what you mean, sir. I love you..that way. Me and Rosie-it was set up by our families, you understand-I never fully loved her. I wanted to tell you, but, well, I didn't want to bother you. It's you I love. I always have. I-I was too scared to tell you. I was too scared to tell myself."  
  
Frodo forced himself to open his eyes. The coldness seemed to drift away and a warm feeling seeped through his body. Sam loved him? But-but how? The whole time Frodo was tormented inside? His head spun.  
  
"Really, Sam?"  
  
Sam nodded fiercely. "I didn't realize that I loved you that way-till I had a dream and, well, I didn't think you would feel the same way.."  
  
"I do, Sam, I do!" Frodo said with as much strength as he could muster.  
  
"I know." Sam kissed Frodo hand, as his tears fell.  
  
Suddenly Frodo felt weary to the bone, but the cold grip on his heart seemed to loosen. "Sam, I must rest now," sighed Frodo and drifted off to sleep.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Next time Frodo awoke, he felt better and Sam patiently fed him half a bowl of broth. Sam blushed whenever Frodo looked into his eyes, and Frodo smiled awkwardly. They both wondered at each others thoughts, but Sam pushed them to the back of his mind, too busy caring for Frodo and getting a little gardening done when he was asleep.  
  
Frodo slept a great deal during the next few days. His dreams were joyful; of hot mushrooms and bright blue skies and cheery laughter. He even forgot about the ring.  
  
Slowly Frodo became well, and after three days of Sam's care, he was nearly completely healed. Yet, they did not mention their feelings for each other. Frodo rose from the bed for the first time since his collapsed, and found Sam in the kitchen, making some tea. Frodo pulled at his nightshirt and ran his hand through his hair.  
  
"Sam?"  
  
Sam turned around and gasped. "Sir! Bless me, you're up! Come, sit down."  
  
Sam settled Frodo on a chair at the table and quickly fixed up two cups of tea. He placed the steaming liquid in front of Frodo. Frodo cupped his hands around the mug, enjoying the warmth.  
  
"How do you feel, sir?"  
  
"As well as I ever have," said Frodo, taking a sip of tea. He shifted uncomfortably at the silence. Surely his conversation with Sam had not been a hallucination? What if he had imagined the whole thing?  
  
"Sam, about-"  
  
Sam blushed. "It wasn't a dream, was it sir? It feels like a dream..but I don't know."  
  
Frodo took Sam's hand and smiled. "I wondered if was a dream too. But, I know how I feel. My illness has made me realize that I should have told you my true feelings, for they tormented me inside till I could not stand it any longer. I love you, Sam, and will never stop."  
  
Suddenly Sam burst into tears, and hastily drew his sleeve across his nose. "Oh, Mr. Frodo-I thought it would never happen. I thought I was wrong- having those type of thoughts. Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin said you were pining for a lass, and I believed them. But I couldn't help myself. I love you, more than anything!"  
  
Sam's hand shook as Frodo squeezed it tight. "Sam, there is nothing more I would like to do right now that kiss you."  
  
"Oh, me dear!" was the surprised response.  
  
"But, Sam, you are still to be engaged to Rosie lass. Do you still want to marry her?" Frodo bit his lip and held his breath. What if, after all this, he-  
  
"No! I want to be with you. She's a fine lass, to be certain, but I don't love her-like I love you."  
  
Frodo sighed. "I think you should tell her, before we.." he trailed off.  
  
Sam nodded. "You're right, sir, it wouldn't be right on her."  
  
"You know, perhaps you should go right now and tell her. I fell *much* better now, and I have been waiting for so long," said Frodo lightly, brushing Sam's trembling hand with his fingers.  
  
"Oh!" Sam cheeks reddened. "All right. But it will take a few hours to reach the Cotton's farm and return. It will be dark when I arrive back here."  
  
"That suits me perfectly," said Frodo, grinning. "Hurry up now, or I shall burst!"  
  
Sam nodded again, and, muttering a quick goodbye, ran out the door. Frodo laughed gaily as he watched the stout hobbit run down Bag End as fast as his legs could carry him.  
  
End of chapter 8  
  
To be continued... 


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9  
  
Frodo sighed as he watched from the window. How long had Sam been away now? Three, four hours? It was dark outside now, and soon the stars would emerge from hiding.  
  
What if Sam didn't come back? What if he decided this was not the right thing to do? What if-what if he didn't love Frodo that way anymore? Maybe he had changed his mind. Maybe he would decide that it was not worth it. Why, what would the Gaffer and Mrs. Gamgee think of this? Clearly their hopes were pinned on Sam and Rosie being wed and producing many grandchildren for them.  
  
Frodo smoothed his weskit and breeches that he had changed into. He drew his fingers through his tousled curls. Butterflies danced in his stomach. Did Sam really want to do those things that Frodo had dreamed of? What if Sam didn't find him attractive? But he had said he loved him that way, didn't he? What if Frodo made a fool of himself?  
  
Frodo walked to his room and looked at himself in the mirror. His cheeks were hollow and grey smudges were under his eyes. He was thin, too thin for a hobbit. And his eyes-people always commented on how blue they were, like a clear spring day. Frodo was used to seeing a haunted look in them, sad and in pain. But now, there seemed to be a sparkle in them, a happiness in the clear depths.  
  
A noise at the door startled him, and he rushed to the hall and saw Sam standing, wide-eyed, red from exertion, but cold from the chill air.  
  
"Hullo, Mr. Frodo."  
  
"Sam! I-I thought you weren't coming back."  
  
Sam looked upset. "Sir, I would never do anything like that to you!"  
  
Sam was still shivering, and Frodo suggested they stand by the warm fire. Sam stood at the fire, rubbing his hands to rid the chill. Soon his face was rosy again and the goose bumps disappeared from his exposed skin.  
  
They stood by the fireplace awkwardly. Sam kept glancing at Frodo, and Frodo kept stealing looks at Sam. "This isn't like my dreams at all," said Frodo to himself. "We are like shy tweenagers, each waiting to make the first move." At last the tension became too much and Frodo broke the silence.  
  
"Did you tell Rosie?"  
  
Sam nodded and his eyes filled with tears. "She didn't take it well, the poor lass. Her ma was upset as well. But I can't be with someone I don't love, can I?"  
  
"No, Samwise, you can't. Did you tell her about-about us?" he said quietly.  
  
"No, sir, all I said was that I didn't feel it was right that we were married at this time. I couldn't tell her I didn't love her-she's a fine hobbit and I don't want to make her unhappy." Sam looked distressed as he remembered what had happened.  
  
"What about the Gaffer and your ma? What do you think they will say about..us?" asked Frodo.  
  
Sam looked uncomfortable. "I don't know. I s'pose I will have to tell them, it's just-I hope they wont be disappointed in me."  
  
Tears began to stream down Sam's face. Frodo crossed the hall and put his arms around Sam. Sam buried his head into Frodo's soft chest and sobbed. Frodo breathed in the sweet scent of Sam's curly hair.  
  
"Sam! Sam! Don't cry," said Frodo, troubled. "This is what you want, isn't it?"  
  
Sam looked into Frodo's clear blue eyes. "More than anything in the world, sir."  
  
"Then why do you cry?"  
  
"Mr. Sandyman, the miller's son, he said one day that-that this type of love was evil. That it wasn't the way nature intended."  
  
"Do you believe him?"  
  
"I don't know. But I wonder: how can love be wrong? We ain't hurting anybody, are we? All I know is I love you, Mr. Frodo, and I can't stop." Sam bit his lip determinedly.  
  
"I agree with you, Sam. Love can never be wrong. Love is the most important; most lovely thing in the whole world."  
  
Sam nodded and sniffed.  
  
Frodo looked steadily at Sam. "I love you Samwise Gamgee. I will always love you. Forever and ever," he added with conviction.  
  
Frodo tightened his arms around Sam's shoulders, and brought his face close to Sam's.  
  
New tears began to stream down Sam's face; but this time they were tears of joy. "I love you too, Mr. Frodo. I always have, I reckon, I was just too slow to realize, just like the Gaffer says. Every time I saw you, every time you spoke, I loved you more and more."  
  
Frodo laughed, clear and musical. "Sam, maybe you should just call me 'Frodo' from now on."  
  
Sam nodded, embarrassed. "All right...Frodo."  
  
Frodo stroked Sam's wet cheek and brushed a stray tear from his eye. "Sam, do you think it would be all right if I kissed you now?"  
  
Sam turned pink, but smiled. "I would like that very much."  
  
Frodo cupped Sam's chin and leaned forward, brushing his mouth lightly across Sam's full lips. Frodo pulled away, awaiting Sam's reaction, but Sam shifted closer and Frodo realized he wanted more. This time Frodo positioned his lips firmly on Sam's, and felt a warm glow spread throughout his body. His senses reeled with the taste and smell and feel of Sam. He tasted of honey and dewdrops and his lips were surprisingly soft and moist. It was a sweet, innocent kiss. They pressed their lips together for a minute, drinking in the sensations. The moment stayed fresh in Frodo's mind till his dying day.  
  
"Mmmm, that was nice," Frodo murmured as they broke apart.  
  
"Y-yes," Sam managed.  
  
Frodo run his hands through Sam's sandy curls and pulled him close. "You're so lovely," he sighed as he nuzzled on Sam's ear.  
  
"Sir, sir," said Sam, managing to push Frodo away.  
  
Frodo looked at Sam, concerned. "What's is it, Sam, did I do something wrong?"  
  
"No, but the Gaffer's expecting me home by now, and I should be going. We've got a bit off talking to do-about Rosie." Sam's face was flushed and his eyes dropped.  
  
Frodo nodded sadly. This was all a little too much for Sam, and for him perhaps as well. "I understand."  
  
"It's not that I don't want to, sir, it's just that-that I don't think I'm ready yet."  
  
"Of course, Sam. We can take our time if we wish. I'm feeling a little tired as well. I'll be seeing you in the morning."  
  
"All right, Frodo. G'night."  
  
"Goodnight Sam," said Frodo softly as Sam opened the door. They shared a shy, loving glance, before Sam disappeared into the darkness.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
During the next few days they shared loving looks, quick kisses during lunch and warm hugs when Sam left for home. Frodo felt content with this, although at night he wondered what it would be like to make love to Sam.  
  
The ring stayed in Frodo's pocket, yet for the most part he had forgotten about it, and the foul voices ceased calling to him. Frodo's nightmares were now a distant memory, and his sleep was now content. However, Frodo wished he could wake up to feel Sam's warm body wrapped around his body and bury his head into his sandy curls sleepily. Sam was very shy, and as much as Frodo wanted to lay with him, he would wait until Sam was ready. Knowing Sam loved him was the greatest gift in the world. Touches and kisses were pleasurable additions.  
  
Hobbiton was now abuzz with the news that Sam and Rosie were not to be wed, and many wondered why this was so. Some said Sam had gone mad, like his master; others wondered if he had fallen in love with somebody else. They Ivy Bush and Green Dragon were filled with drunken insinuations (made mostly by Ted Sandyman) who thought Sam had forced him on poor Rosie-lass before their wedding night, and Farmer Cotton had thrown him out of the house in a rage. Of course, those who knew Sam thought this absurd, and did not mind saying so.  
  
The Gaffer and Mrs. Gamgee were upset at the news, but Sam seemed cheerful enough, and since he had now come of age, they decided to leave it be.  
  
Sam and Frodo kept their feelings for each other a secret, they didn't even tell their best friends. They were still getting used to awkward kisses and the new feelings their relationship had awoken. Once they had nearly been caught in a passionate embrace, when the Gaffer had walked into Bag End without even knocking, looking for Sam. Luckily they heard the Gaffers heavy footsteps in the hall, and he had found two red- faced hobbits smoothing their shirts in the kitchen, a pile of dirty dishes unwashed in the sink.  
  
Frodo was eating now, and had gained a pound or so. Sam cooked Frodo's meals lovingly, and the both watched each other eat with shy eyes at the table. Soon Frodo had regained his strength, from Sam's nourishment, culinary and emotional. His face, though still a little pale, now had a lovely rosy tinge. His hair brightened, and a perpetual smile curled on his lips.  
  
The weather became fairer, and the sun began to warm the earth. Spring had come early; flowers began to blossom, and fruit had began to ripen. The cruel winter had not eventuated, and now the kitchens and storehouses of the hobbits were laden with food, waiting to be consumed.  
  
One evening, a week after their first kiss, Sam and Frodo sat by the fireside. Frodo laid his head on Sam's shoulder, while Sam gently massaged Frodo's back. Frodo sighed contentedly, and pressed his lips to Sam's shoulder.  
  
"I love you so much, Sam," whispered Frodo.  
  
"I love you to sir," said Sam, smiling. Despite Frodo managing to make Sam call him 'Frodo', he could not convince him to stop calling him 'sir'. "It's not proper, me being your servant and all," Sam had pronounced, scarlet-faced.  
  
"I could lie here all day in your arms."  
  
"Aye, that would be nice, but the garden needs attending to. The 'taters will be needing to be planted soon."  
  
"But of course, dear Sam," said Frodo, laying a kiss on Sam's neck  
  
"Frodo, sir," said Sam, a smile twisting on his lips. "You're awfully distracting."  
  
"And so are you," said Frodo as suckled on Sam's throat for a moment.  
  
"FRODO!" gasped Sam.  
  
Frodo took Sam's chin in his hand and kissed him. Sam murmured in enjoyment as their wet tongues met. They kissed again and again, hands running down each other hips, and fingers clutching desperately on each other's clothes.  
  
"Frodo, mmm, right-yes.."  
  
"Don't stop, Sam, please-uh.." Their small voices sighed and mumbled between kisses.  
  
Each was overcome by the touch and smell and warmth of the other. All thought ceased in their minds, except for the love they held for each other. Suddenly they found themselves lying next to each other, hips thrusting longingly.  
  
"Oh, Sam," groaned Frodo, as he kissed Sam again. Sam's fingers were dug into the small of Frodo's back. Frodo slid his hand up Sam's shirt, eliciting a loud moan when his fingers grazed a hardened nub.  
  
"Sam, I want to so much.." sighed Frodo, feeling a great heat in his breeches.  
  
Frodo slid one leg across Sam's hips, feeling Sam's arousal straining against his breeches. He pressed his face to Sam's heaving chest, nipping softly as a button.  
  
"Sir, ah, please!" Sam managed to choke, "The Gaffer's expecting me for tea. I've got to be getting home."  
  
Frodo felt tears well in his eyes. "All right, Sam," he said sadly as he eased himself off Sam. Sam was not ready to-  
  
"But-but I could come around after tea," Sam stammered.  
  
Frodo froze. "After tea?" he whispered. Sam nodded, chewing his lip fretfully. Frodo brushed Sam's cheek with his a trembling hand. "Do you want to?"  
  
"I'm ready sir," he said, blushing.  
  
Frodo's heart pounded and he gulped. Sam was coming tonight after tea! He wanted to..to what? Frodo looked longing at Sam, wishing he didn't have to wait.  
  
Suddenly Frodo grinned. "Perhaps you should wait a moment before going home," he said, nodding his head towards the lump in Sam's breeches.  
  
Sam's cheeks burned as he quickly covered himself up with his hands. Frodo laughed. "Dearest Samwise, you are not the only one in that condition."  
  
"Oh, Frodo," muttered Sam, quickly glancing at Frodo. "I think it's best I'd be getting home now, seeing you like that makes me all hot."  
  
"Seeing you like that makes *me* hot," said Frodo, kissing Sam on the cheek. "All right, go on then, the sooner you go, the sooner you'll be back here in my arms. Don't be too long."  
  
Sam rose, and Frodo took his hand and walked him to the door. Frodo kissed Sam again on the mouth. "Hurry, my love," he said, squeezing Sam's shoulder, the heat in his eyes unmistakable.  
  
Sam opened his mouth, but no words came out, so he nodded as he left the smial. Sam's heart thudded as he walked down Bag Shot Row. Seeing Frodo that way-feeling him press his hips so longingly against Sam-had given him a painful soreness in his breeches. Frodo was so beautiful, and it was so hard to resist! He wanted so much to see Frodo without his clothes on-he had thought about it every night since they first kissed. The gentle touches and kisses during the past week had been wonderful, but now Sam sensed Frodo wanted more-and so did he. Sam felt his face redden as he thought of touching Frodo *there*. "Just don't go making a fool of yourself, Samwise Gamgee," he muttered to himself as he turned the doorknob to his home.  
  
End of Chapter 9  
  
To be continued (as usual)... 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 9  
  
Frodo sat numbly at the kitchen table, his hands clasping a cup of tea that was quickly becoming cold. He shifted uncomfortably. *After tea. * He kept hearing Sam's words in his head over and over again. Frodo gritted his teeth. The lust in Sam's voice was unmistakable. It made Frodo ache terribly in more places than one.  
  
He had taken a bath and washed his hair with a lavender scent, and now had changed into a freshly pressed pair of breeches and a clean weskit. Frodo had lit fragrant candles in his bedroom, and arranged a vase of newly picked flowers on the dressing table. A freshly baked apple pie sat on the table, made from crisp green apples from the orchard. Frodo had baked it with loving care; the smell of the cooked apples filled the kitchen with an earthy scent.  
  
Frodo sighed and absentmindedly stirred his tea, watching the swirls dance inside the cup. The liquid was a caramel-brown, a little lighter than Sam's eyes. Sam's eyes! Frodo reckoned he could stare into the clear depths for the rest of his life.  
  
He thought of Sam's cute button mouth, soft and inviting, and his pink cheeks, sun-kissed and warm. His sandy curls were like silk in his fingers, and smelled of rain and kisses. Sam's chest was strong and tanned, unlike Frodo's slim and pale. His belly was stout, like any healthy hobbit, and wonderfully warm. And lower than that - Frodo gulped and closed his eyes for a moment, sighing.  
  
Frodo raised the cup to his lips, preparing to take a sip, when a noise in the door startled him. His hand moved in alarm and tea sloshed over his shirt and breeches. Frodo quickly done up the buttons of his weskit to cover the stain, hoping Sam wouldn't notice his sodden breeches. He found a flustered Sam standing at the doorstep, patting his arms to warm up. Sam looked up at Frodo and blushed shyly.  
  
"Hullo, Sam", said Frodo cheerfully, hoping he didn't sound as nervous as his felt.  
  
"Sir," said Sam, smiling, a little awkwardly.  
  
A moment of silence passed, and Frodo led Sam inside to the kitchen. "I've baked some apple pie, if you would like some," said Frodo.  
  
"Oh! Yes please," said Sam, relieved.  
  
Sam followed Frodo to the kitchen, and Frodo busied himself making some tea and cutting a slice of pie. He felt Sam's eyes watching his back, and tiny prickles formed on his neck.  
  
"Cream?" asked Frodo.  
  
"Uh, yes, thanks sir,"  
  
Frodo handed Sam a slice of apple pie, with a great dollop of cream, and placed his own small slice in front of him as he sat down. Sam tentatively took a bite. "Very good, sir, just like my Ma makes,"  
  
"Mmmm.." said Frodo, distracted by the way Sam's lips curled around the spoon, and the way he licked a speck of cream from the side of his mouth.  
  
Sam nodded towards Frodo. "Are you going to have some?"  
  
"Oh! Of course," said Frodo, the plate of pie in front of him momentarily forgotten. He dug his spoon into the pie and took a small bite. The sweetness of the apples burst on his tongue. Not as sweet as-  
  
"Nice to see you eating again, Frodo, if you don't mind me saying. A hungry hobbit is a healthy hobbit, as the Gaffer says."  
  
"It *is* good to be eating again, Sam, food taste much more delicious now that you and I are.." Frodo trailed off abruptly.  
  
Sam's eyes dropped in embarrassment, and he took another bite of pie. His spoon was laden with cream, and he opened his mouth wide to eat the mouthful. Frodo felt his hand shaking slightly as a spot of white cream settled on Sam's upper lip, refusing to be licked off by his tongue. Frodo choked a little, spraying some crumbs onto the table.  
  
"Is there something wrong?" said Sam in alarm.  
  
"No, Sam." Frodo quickly brushed the crumbs away. He was fascinated by the way the cream danced on Sam's upper lip when he spoke. "I think I've had enough for now," he said, hastily standing up and taking the plate to the sink.  
  
Frodo heard a sound behind him, and there was Sam, taking his plate to the sink, only a few crumbs remaining. "Do you think we should do the dishes?" asked Sam, gesturing to the pots and spoons used by Frodo when making the pie. Frodo frowned. Seeing Sam like that would probably result in many precious dishes being dropped onto the floor....  
  
"Sam," said Frodo, unable to contain himself, "you have a little cream on you upper lip."  
  
Sam cocked his head to the side and thought for a moment. "I do, sir?" he said lightly, making no attempt to remove it.  
  
Frodo sensed Sam's game and his stomach tightened. "Perhaps you would like *me* to remove the cream?" he said, trying to keep his voice even.  
  
"Thank you, sir, I would appreciate that."  
  
Frodo took a step towards Sam, and Sam shivered slightly, as he looked into Frodo's eyes. "Sam," murmured Frodo, wrapping his arms around him. Frodo ducked his head, and ran his tongue over Sam's lips. He gave a shudder, and Frodo kissed him on the mouth, the taste of Sam and fresh cream delightful on his tongue.  
  
"Mmmm, the cream is sweet, but you, Sam, are much sweeter," murmured Frodo.  
  
Sam pressed his head to Frodo's chest, and they stood for a moment, in an embrace, rocking gently.  
  
"Sam I want-" started Frodo, but he was cut off when Sam's lips met his.  
  
"Frodo, Frodo," sighed Sam as his ran his fingers though Frodo's curls. "I - I can't help it. It's so hard to stop."  
  
"I know, I know," Frodo murmured into Sam's neck.  
  
Sam buried his face in Frodo's locks. "Sir! You smell of lavender!" he gasped.  
  
"Do you like it?"  
  
"Oh, Frodo," was all Sam answer, inhaling the perfume deeply. "I can't help myself, sir, you looked so lovely, in the firelight and-"  
  
"Shhh," whispered Frodo, tenderly planting a kiss on Sam's mouth. Sam played with a button on Frodo's weskit, turning pink when it unfastened in his fingers.  
  
"It hurts so much," Sam said quietly, "*there*, and it scares me, but I want to so much.."  
  
"I know, for so long - I've been thinking, wishing..hoping. All alone in the darkness."  
  
Frodo's shoulders shook and Sam hugged him tightly, feeling Frodo's tears wet his shoulder. "Sir, I'm here now, yer Sam's here for you now..and I'll never leave!"  
  
"Of course, Sam," said Frodo, brushing his tears away. "There's just been so much wasted time, wasted love."  
  
"Not anymore," said Sam, kissing Frodo's soft curls.  
  
"No, not anymore," said Frodo quietly.  
  
They stepped away from each other shyly; each wondering what would happen next. Sam gazed down Frodo's body shyly and his eyes opened with surprise.  
  
"Frodo! You have spilled something on you clothes!"  
  
Frodo looked down, seeing that Sam's nimble fingers had revealed the tea stain, and chuckled. "Yes, when you came back you startled me. I was sitting at the table, wondering if you would come back, and letting my tea get cold." Frodo looked at Sam and smiled boldly. "Perhaps you would like to accompany me to the bedroom where I can change into something more comfortable?"  
  
Sam's eyes opened wider. "Oh! If you would like."  
  
Frodo grinned and took Sam's hand. "Oh, Samwise, my dear, I would like," he said as he led Sam to his bedroom.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
They stood by Frodo's bed, gazing into each other's eyes.  
  
"Frodo, I've - I've never done this before. I've never even lain with a lass. I don't know what to do," Sam said softly, clearly embarrassed.  
  
"I've never been with a lass either, Sam." Frodo looked at Sam with a twinkle in his eye. "But surely you have some idea? I know what I've been thinking about, late at night in bed. What did you think about?"  
  
"Well, I thought of lots of things..." Sam trailed off.  
  
Frodo smiled and placed his hands on Sam's shoulders. "I've thought of a lot of things I would like to do to you, Samwise. And things I would like you to do to me. Whatever feels good, don't you think?"  
  
"Whatever feels good," Sam echoed, turning scarlet.  
  
"Remember, I love you, Sam. If you don't want to do something, just tell me, and we can lay, wrapped up in each others arms, if you like."  
  
"I love you too, Frodo," said Sam, tears filling his eyes. "I trust you, but do you feel up to it? You were sick only a week ago."  
  
"Why, dear Samwise, what do you have in store for me?" Frodo chuckled as Sam's cheeks burned. "I feel better than I have ever before."  
  
Frodo gently kissed Sam on the lips. Sam pressed himself close to Frodo's thudding heart. Frodo kissed Sam's wet eyes, his cheeks and his hot forehead.  
  
Frodo looked into Sam's brown eyes questionably and Sam nodded, eyes shining. He pressed his lips to Sam's and opened his mouth to poke his tongue out slightly. Sam opened his mouth and Frodo swept his tongue over this wetness inside. Frodo heard a peculiar noise, and realized it was Sam whimpering with pleasure. He drew his hand through Sam's hair, pressing Sam as close to him as possible. Frodo felt Sam gripping his arm tightly. After a while they broke apart, and stood by the bed, panting.  
  
"I liked that," said Frodo, a little shakily.  
  
Sam looked at Frodo with lust. Frodo looked so beautiful in the flickering candlelight. His face was a lovely pink colour and his eyes were blue pools of clear water. A fire seemed to blaze inside of Sam. He pulled Frodo towards him and kissed him hard on the lips, their tongues sliding past each other. Frodo moaned loudly into Sam's mouth and a great shudder passed through his body. Sam stumbled forward with surprise and crashed onto the bed, with Frodo under him.  
  
Sam looked startled and quickly rolled off him, and lay beside him on the bed. They looked at each other for a moment and then collapsed into a fit of laughter. They writhed on the bed, great trembles coursing throughout their bodies.  
  
"Sam, you should have seen you face," giggled Frodo, wiping a tear from his eye.  
  
"I thought I might have hurt you," said Sam, smiling.  
  
Frodo shook his head. "No, Sam. Actually, I enjoyed it very much." He laughed again and looked at Sam, crimson from embarrassment. They lay in a peaceful silence for a while, arms wrapped around each other.  
  
Frodo realized Sam's eyes were open wide and his body shaking. Frodo took Sam's hand. "What's wrong?" he whispered.  
  
"I'm a little scared - terrified actually," admitted Sam, laughing lightly.  
  
"Me too," said Frodo, massaging Sam's hand. "This is more scary than dealing with the awful Sackville-Bagginses!"  
  
Sam smiled at the thought. "But I'm not like them, am I?"  
  
"Oh, no, Sam. But, my stomach feels like I've just seen Lobelia's sour face. I'm terribly nervous. It's hard to believe it's happening."  
  
"I know," muttered Sam.  
  
"But I want to so much," murmured Frodo, stroking Sam's jaw line. "It's just so hard to resist, isn't it?"  
  
Sam managed a sigh as Frodo lent over and kissed him on the lips, and then he tenderly pulled Sam's bottom lip gently in his teeth. Frodo felt a spark run through him as Sam quivered at the touch. Frodo trailed little kisses down his neck until Sam's shirt stopped him from reaching more skin. He ran his hand over Sam's chest and played with his top button.  
  
Sam was watching him from half closed eyes. Frodo felt Sam's heart beating fast through the thin fabric. Frodo undid the button, slowly, playfully. He kissed the small patch of bare skin and Sam sighed. He unfastened the buttons slowly, each time laying a gently kiss on the new flesh being exposed.  
  
"Frodo!" said Sam, his voice thick with feeling.  
  
Now that Sam's muscled chest lay uncovered, Frodo gazed hungrily and the brown flesh. "Oh, Sam, you're so beautiful," he said, his voice quivering with emotion.  
  
Frodo brought his face to Sam's chest, and, darting his tongue out of his mouth, licked the dark brown nipples. Sam moaned incoherent noises as Frodo nibbled them teasingly. He wondered what would happen if he did that-  
  
"FRODO!"  
  
At last Frodo lifted his head, and ran his fingers slowly down Sam's body, stopping at the top of his breeches. Frodo looked into Sam's wide eyes.  
  
"Sam, do you want me too?" whispered Frodo huskily.  
  
Sam managed a throaty yes.  
  
Frodo touched a button, and tried to unfasten it, but his hands were shaking so much he couldn't get a grip. He looked up at Sam, embarrassed.  
  
"I love you, Frodo," whispered Sam. "Please."  
  
Frodo nodded and, hands shaking, undid the buttons; his breathes getting heavier as each button was unfastened. His heart pounded and his head felt dizzy. Frodo's breathing quickened as his tugged on Sam's breeches.  
  
Frodo let out a little gasp of joy as he looked upon him, and saw with delight that Sam was undeniably enjoying Frodo's touches.  
  
"Oh, Sam," sighed Frodo, his eyes dropping. He crawled up Sam and kissed his on the cheek. "You are the most lovely creature I have looked upon."  
  
Sam was silent for a moment, trying to control his emotions. "Frodo, if you don't mind - since you've seen me in naught but my skin - maybe I could see you too?"  
  
Frodo laughed at Sam's shyness. "Of course, my love. But you are not fully undressed yet. Let me help you." He helped Sam wriggle out of his shirt and pulled his breeches past his furry feet.  
  
"Now it's my turn," said Frodo. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt and breeches, Sam watching with wanton eyes. Frodo tossed his clothes onto the floor and lay next to Sam, grinning. Their naked bodies pressed together closely, and Frodo felt a rush of desire.  
  
"Lay back, Sam," gasped Frodo, tickling Sam's chest.  
  
Sam immediately understood. "Frodo, I want - I want to do this to *you*. You deserve it."  
  
"No, Sam." Frodo smiled wolfishly. "Tonight, I want to be your servant."  
  
Sam sighed and laid back, closing his eyes. "Sam, Sam," Frodo mumbled, pressing his swollen lips to Sam chest.  
  
Frodo moved lower, suckling at the warm skin.  
  
"Frodo, just - there..oh!" Sam groaned as Frodo nipped at his sensitive nipple.  
  
Frodo kissed Sam's chest. "Sam," kiss. "I," another kiss, "love," kiss, "you," kiss.  
  
"Me too.. FRODO!" Sam managed to gasp as Frodo's hand tickled the inside of his thighs.  
  
Frodo slide his tongue down Sam's belly, grazing the tender skin as Sam moved his hips impatiently.  
  
"Lower!" Sam groaned, immediately turning red when he realized what he had said.  
  
Frodo's eyes twinkled. "If you insist, Samwise." Sam gave a little whimper.  
  
Then Sam felt Frodo touch, and lick him, and he thought he would burst with joy. Frodo took Sam into his mouth, as Sam's fingers clutched desperately at Frodo's hair. Sam's plaintive cries were mixed with Frodo's muffled sighs and moans. Sam felt his hips thrust as if they had a mind of their own, and he felt himself deep in Frodo's moist mouth.  
  
"Frodo - sir - uh - I can't - I can't wait..FRODO!"  
  
And then Sam felt himself release and he lay on the bed, gasping and clutching the sheets, stars before his eyes. When he could see clearly again, Frodo was looking at him, his eyes filled with emotion.  
  
"Oh, Sam," Frodo sighed and kissed him tenderly. Sam realized Frodo tasted different from before, a musky flavour, but the thought slipped his mind as he felt Frodo's hardness poking him in the belly.  
  
"You taste wonderful," Frodo murmured, nuzzling Sam's earlobe.  
  
"Oh!" Sam realized. "But, Frodo, you're not - not done."  
  
Frodo felt a shaking hand clasp him and he thrust hard, calling Sam's name as he dug his fingers into Sam's shoulder. The friction built up, and Frodo felt that he was on fire. Sam was mumbling something into his ear, but all he could hear was a roaring sound, like the waves of the distant sea.  
  
"Sam, it's com - I can't hold - uh..SAM!"  
  
Sam felt hotness flow on his hand, like a burst of sunlight, and Frodo lay beside him, panting and sighing.  
  
Frodo and Sam held each other in trembling arms, until their hearts had stopped racing and strength returned to their limbs. They lay on their sides, looking into each other's teary eyes. Sam blushed and stroked Frodo's hand.  
  
"Frodo, do you think - if you want me to - that I could do that to you one day?" Sam lowered his eyes.  
  
Frodo kissed Sam on the nose. "Of course, my dear Samwise." Frodo's eyes twinkled. "But, my love, I have another surprise for you tomorrow night, I think." Frodo ran his fingers down Sam's back and lightly squeezed his backside.  
  
"And what would that be?" said Sam, looking at Frodo wonderingly.  
  
Frodo smiled and kissed Sam on the mouth. "You will just have to wait."  
  
"All right," said Sam happily as he wrapped his arms around Frodo's delicate body.  
  
"Are you going to stay here tonight?" said Frodo as he gently massaged Sam's back.  
  
"Mmmhmmm. I guess I'll just tell the Gaffer you were sick again," murmured Sam.  
  
Frodo pressed himself close to Sam. "I hope you will sleep in my bed from now on. I want you to move into Bag End with me."  
  
"I will, Frodo. I will."  
  
Frodo was silent for a moment. "Sam?" Frodo's voice was shaky.  
  
"Yes, sir?"  
  
"I - I have something to tell you. Something I did," Frodo stammered.  
  
"Shhh." Sam pressed his finger to Frodo's lips. "Not now. Not tonight. I just want to lay in your arms. It ain't matter."  
  
Frodo looked into Sam's eyes. "I love you, Sam," he said, kissing him on the shoulder.  
  
"I love you too, Frodo. For ever and ever, till the flowers fail to bloom and the sun forgets to rise." Sam smiled and snuggled into the crook of Frodo's neck, promptly falling asleep.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Frodo gently lifted the arm of a contentedly sleeping Sam and crept out of bed. He found his weskit on the floor and reached into it. His fingers clasped the object inside. He opened his hand and studied the ring on his palm. It didn't look attractive anymore: just a plain, gold ring that glowed dully in the flickering candlelight. Frodo left the room and came to the trunk. He opened it up and grabbed the envelope he had found months before. Frodo dropped the ring into the envelope and sealed it up. Putting the envelope into the trunk, he closed it with a clunk.  
  
Humming to himself, Frodo climbed back into bed and wrapped his arm around Sam's warm shoulders. Frodo smiled sleepily and kissed Sam on the cheek. He wouldn't be needing the ring anymore. He had Sam, and that was all he desired.  
  
~ end ~  
  
Author's Note: Well, that's the end, I hope you like it. Thank you for reading and reviewing. I hope I did Sam and Frodo justice: for they deserve nothing less. I'm currently working on more Sam/Frodo fics; more of which can be found on my website. And a last (but by no means least) thank you to the master himself, J.R.R. Tolkien for giving us such wonderful characters to enjoy (though I doubt he would have imagined us enjoying them in this way!) 


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